Page 111 of Cut up
A smile touches Miranda’s lips. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s… everything Sean wasn’t. Kind. Steady. Patient. I feel safe with him. But I’m scared. What if I get it wrong again? What if I fall apart and he gets sick of me, just like Sean always said would happen with anyone else?”
Miranda tilts her head. “Falling apart doesn’t scare the right person away. It shows them how to love you better.”
That makes something tremble inside me. I blink away tears and breathe deeply.
“You’re allowed to be afraid,” she says. “But don’t let fear keep you from happiness. You’ve done the work. You’re doing the work. You’re allowed to move on, without guilt.”
I nod, wiping at my eyes. “Thank you. Really.”
When the session ends, I book another appointment for next week without hesitation. When I step out of Miranda’s office, the air feels different. Lighter. Or maybe it’s just me.
I pull out my phone and call Lucas. He picks up after the first ring.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, warmth flooding his voice.
“Hey,” I breathe, already feeling better just hearing him. “Where are you?”
“I just popped into the salon to finalize a few things with the trades—plumber’s are on their way and the electricians are finishing up. I was going to call you, the basins came. Want to come see?”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m on my way.”
The drive is calm, midday sunlight spilling across the windshield as I head toward the new space.
My new space. I still can’t believe it’s mine.
A slow smile tugs at my lips as I pull up out front.
My dream, finally happening.
Excitement stirs in my chest—but it’s quickly joined by a knot of dread when I think about Sean.
I grab my painting from the boot of the car and walk inside.
Lucas is inside, crouched near the wall, checking some wiring with one of the electricians. He’s got a smudge of paint on his forearm, and his shirt’s slightly damp with sweat. It shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but I pause, watching him, warmth blooming low in my belly.
I seriously love this man.
He looks up, grinning when he sees me. “Hey you.”
“Hey,” I say, walking toward him. “You’ve been busy.”
He stands and pulls me in for a kiss—slow and sweet, full of the kind of comfort only he can give me.
“I missed you this morning,” I say against his chest.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my forehead. “How was the appointment?”
“It was good. Really good. I feel better… lighter.”
He smiles, brushing my hair behind my ear. “I’m glad.” He looks down. “What’s this? Is this your painting? Cam, it’s stunning!” He takes the painting that I was holding under my arm and stares at it in awe.
“Thank you. I love it. Could you please help me put it up?”
“Of course.” He carries the painting over to the spot I’d been staring at yesterday, holding it up and angling it slightly as he assesses the space.
“Here?”
